


A Good Party

by hexagonad (ideserveyou)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst, Baileys, Board of Shamen, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Moonlight, Phosphorescent Waves, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, too much dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/hexagonad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened one night during Dennis's stag weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘It’s been a good party.’

 

‘It’s been a good party.’

 

If one more pissed shaman says that to me tonight, I’m going to empty what’s left of my drink over his or her head.

 

I force a smile; wave Tony Harrison goodnight as Kirk carries him out of the bar.

 

Thank fuck, the others are finally heading off too. I thought I was going to have to stay up all night.

 

A heavy hand is laid on my shoulder.

 

‘It’s been a good party.’

 

I resist the urge. Dennis is the exception. It is, after all, his party.

 

‘Thank you,’ I say mildly, my coolness somewhat spoilt by the fact that I then hiccup so hard I have to hold on to the counter rail. I knew that last cocktail of Kirk’s wasn’t a good idea.

 

‘No, thank _you_ ,’ the D-man says earnestly, ‘you did all the work organizing, I just had to turn up. Couldn’t have asked for a better stag.’

 

‘It’s not over yet.’ I sigh. I’ve still got to survive a champagne breakfast tomorrow, a fishing trip and then a barbecue before we head home.

 

Right now I’m not sure the fishing trip was such a good idea, but still... there must be someone here who knows a decent magic hangover cure.

 

Dennis is looking thoughtfully out of the window, at the glittering wavelets on the moonlit sea. ‘Yes, a good party,’ he murmurs, ‘a good party...’

 

I get the feeling he’s lost the plot. A feeling one often gets when Dennis is in the room.

 

My heart sinks. The last thing I need now is for him to start on one of his rambling conversations that go precisely nowhere and take hours to get there. Not for the first time, I wonder whether his wife-to-be really knows what she’s letting herself in for.

 

‘Are you turning in now?’ I ask, hoping he’ll take the hint and go to bed.

 

‘Yes,’ he says absently, ‘bedtime... Listen, will you do me one more favour before you go?’

 

‘For you, D-man, anything.’

 

‘So nice to have someone reliable on the team.’ Dennis is still staring vaguely out of the window.

 

The silence lengthens; the sea whispers softly in the distance.

 

I drain my glass; set it down on the bar.

 

Dennis still says nothing.

 

‘So... what did you want me to do?’ I smother a yawn. ‘Everyone’s gone to bed happy. I could use some sleep before they all start drinking again.’

 

The Head Shaman sighs. ‘Not everyone.’

 

‘Sorry, Den, you’ve lost me there.’

 

He gestures at the deserted beach. ‘Not everyone.’

 

I join him at the window, and look where he is pointing.

 

A small figure is sitting forlornly on one of the abandoned sunbeds.

 

It’s my turn to sigh. ‘Little plum. What’s his problem?’

 

And why the fuck, I wonder, should it be _my_ problem?

 

But I don’t say it. Dennis is the exception.

 

‘I don’t know, Saboo, I have absolutely no idea, but I _do_ know that I’m too drunk to walk down the beach and find out, and what I’d like,’ Dennis says, more earnest than ever, ‘what I’d really like on my stag, is for everyone to go to bed happy. Or at the very least, not _un_ happy. Will you do that for me?’

 

My protest dies on my lips as he turns to me with that helpless, pleading look in his milky-blue eyes, the look I’ve never been able to resist, the look that’s led me to undertake all kinds of ridiculous shamanic tasks against my better judgement.

 

‘I’ll do my best,’ I say. ‘No promises, but –’

 

‘That’s all I ask.’ He’s smiling now. ‘Oh, here, meant to give this to you earlier.’

 

‘What is it?’ I take the small jar he’s holding out.

 

‘It’s from Methuselah’s new extreme skincare range. Extreme sun lotion. For extreme sunburn. I thought it might come in useful.’

 

‘Er, thank you.’ I stick it in the pocket of my kimono. ‘Goodnight, Dennis.’

 

‘Goodnight, Saboo. And good luck.’

 

I watch him weave across the bar and out of the door; wait a couple of minutes in case he falls over in the lobby, but there’s no crash or cry for help.

 

Can’t put it off any longer.

 

I grab the nearest full bottle from behind the bar and set off down the beach.

 

***

 

Without his usual voluminous robes, stripped down to just a pair of leaf-patterned beach shorts, Naboo looks smaller and weedier than ever.

 

‘Fuck off,’ he snarls, as soon as I sit down on the sunbed beside him.

 

‘No.’ I take the lid off the bottle and take a hefty swig. This is going to be challenging to say the least.

 

He doesn’t look round. I take another swig.

 

‘What’re you drinking?’

 

I peer at the label in the moonlight. ‘Bailey’s.’

 

‘Out of the _bottle_? That’s disgustin’... Give it here, then.’

 

I pass it over, careful not to touch him.

 

At least he’s not going to tell me it was a good party.

 

‘Where’s Bollo?’ he asks, after a while.

 

I take the bottle back. ‘Crashed out under the decks in a pool of ape-sweat. Sleeping like a baby. Well, like a baby gorilla, anyway. He’s not going to be much use to you tonight.’

 

‘Neither are you.’

 

‘Well, that’s nice.’ I hand him the drink again. ‘You’re welcome.’

 

‘You’re only here because Dennis sent you.’

 

‘True. He doesn’t trust you not to wander off and fall in the sea or something.’

 

‘I can’t swim.’

 

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

 

‘Nothing. Everything. I don’t know...’ He puts the bottle down; scrubs angrily at his eyes.

 

‘Are you crying?’

 

‘No.’ His shoulders heave.

 

I pass him my handkerchief. ‘Naboo, this is pathetic, even for you. Get a grip. You’re on an expenses-paid trip to your home planet, on an awesomely well-organized and superbly alcoholic stag weekend with all of your best friends – and me – and you’re wasting perfectly good drinking time by being miserable. What is your problem?’

 

He waves a hand at the pale sand, the whispering sea, the South Cliffs gleaming in the moonlight.

 

‘OK, so you don’t like my choice of venue. But is that really worth crying over?’

 

He blows his nose; scrunches the handkerchief into a ball. ‘I can’t be here,’ he whispers.

 

‘What are you drivelling on about, you tit? You _are_ here... No, I don’t want that back.’

 

He tucks the hankie into the waistband of his shorts, and seems to shrink into himself, if that were possible.

 

I suppose I sounded a bit sharp.

 

My head’s pounding, and I can’t see how on earth to carry out the task Dennis has set me, and I hate to see a shaman cry. Even this one.

 

I reach out a hand and touch Naboo’s bare shoulder; he flinches away and cries out, burning hot skin brushing against my fingers.

 

‘You’ve fried yourself, you idiot.’

 

He catches his breath, and I try to soften my tone. ‘How did you manage that?’

 

‘Fell asleep,’ he mutters.

 

‘Not surprised, you’d had a turban full of tequila.’ I feel a bit guilty about that; it was my reminder of the stag rules that led to Naboo taking that particular punishment.

 

‘Where _is_ my turban?’ Naboo looks round as though expecting it to just reappear.

 

‘No idea, I expect someone’ll hand it in, if it hasn’t floated away. I’m not about to go off looking for it at this time of night.’

 

‘Morning.’

 

‘Whatever. Listen, Dennis gave me something that might help you.’

 

He looks suspiciously at the jar in my hand. ‘What is it?’

 

‘Extreme sun lotion.’

 

‘For extreme sunburn?’

 

‘That’s what the big man said. There you go.’

 

He shakes his head and doesn’t take the cream from me. ‘Can’t.’

 

‘What, you allergic to it or something?’

 

‘No, I just – Oh, never mind, I’ll get Bollo to sort it when he wakes up. Cheers.’

 

‘I could...’ I say, hoping he’ll either refuse or simply not get it.

 

‘Fanks.’ He turns away, staring out to sea.

 

I sigh, and undo the lid of the jar.

 

The cream is cool and slippery and has a faint sweet smell like vanilla; I smear it tentatively over Naboo’s back and shoulders, trying to use just my fingertips and not rub too hard, although to judge by his sharply indrawn breaths I’m not succeeding any too well.

 

However, after I’ve been at work for a while the burning heat seems to grow less, and I can smooth my whole palm over his skin without him flinching. It seems Methuselah’s product is more than just window-dressing.

 

‘I’m not used to it,’ he says suddenly.

 

‘Not used to what? Having a personal slave put suncream on you?’

 

He shakes his head. ‘The sun. The suns... I’d forgotten how strong they are.’

 

‘Don’t suppose you’ve built up much resistance, out there on that mudball you live on.’

 

‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’ He sighs deeply. ‘Most of it hardly even ever gets warm. Fuckin’ useless planet.’

 

‘You chose it.’

 

‘Yeah, I know. Didn’t have much on, thought it would be as good as anythin’ else, bein’ the amulet-keeper, an’ it was OK for a bit but...’

 

‘If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place.’

 

‘’M not. Like anybody ever gets any sympathy from you about anythin’ anyway... I just... You did ask what my problem was. I get homesick sometimes, that’s all. Can’t come back here except for work, under the protection of the Board an’ all that ballcrap. An’ Earth winters are so cold... Ow.’

 

‘Stay still, for fuck’s sake. I’m trying not to hurt you.’

 

‘For once.’

 

I’m not sure whether he muttered that, or whether it was just in my head. I decide to ignore it. ‘You could move to the tropics.’

 

‘S’pose I could. But there’s the shop – ’

 

I snort. ‘And those two losers you supposedly employ to run it. Big deal.’

 

‘They’re my friends,’ he protests, ‘I can’t just leave them. They’re pretty much the only ones I’ve got.’

 

‘You’ve got us. The Board. We work hard, we play hard...’

 

‘Bullshit. None of you has ever really – ’

 

‘Oh, change the fucking _record_.’ I snatch my hand away; screw the lid of the suncream closed and shove the jar back in my pocket. ‘I really don’t want to listen to any more of your self-pity.’

 

‘Fine.’ He gets up; turns away, and wanders down the beach towards the pale line of the incoming tide.

 

He looks very small, and very unhappy.

 

And he can’t swim.

 

Fuck it. Dennis, you owe me one for this.

 

I haul myself to my feet, heave a sigh, and go after Naboo.

 

He’s standing ankle-deep, head bowed, watching the waves break.

 

They’re glowing: bright with the gleam and glitter of a myriad tiny noctilucent creatures swirling in the water, a rare event that has something to do with the conjunction of the two moons, though I’m not sure how it works exactly.

 

‘Phosphorescence,’ I say conversationally, as I step into the water beside him.

 

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ he lisps.

 

‘This is harder for me to say: I’m sorry.’

 

The waves come lapping in, clothing us with light.

 

He’s knee-deep before he looks round at me. ‘’Pology accepted. Can’t stay mad at anyfink on a night like this.’

 

A bigger wave breaks.

 

I hitch up my kimono; Naboo looks down at his wet shorts. ‘P’raps I shouldn’t stay in the sea, either. Did we finish the Baileys?’

 

‘I think there’s a bit left.’

 

‘I think we should finish it.’

 

‘Come on, then.’

 

The next wave makes my shorts wet, too, and nearly knocks Naboo off his feet; I grab him by the wrist just in time.

 

He grips my hand as the wave subsides; lets me lead him back up the beach to the sunbed.

 

We finish the bottle in silence, and sit looking at the stars for a while, picking out the familiar constellations.

 

The waves whisper in, closer and closer.

 

‘My feet’re cold,’ he says at length.

 

‘So are mine. Perhaps it’s time to call it a night.’

 

‘Yeah, maybe.’

 

To my surprise, he takes my hand again as we go back to the hotel. I suppose we are both a little unsteady on our feet.

 

Bollo is still snoring peacefully in the bar; we pull a rug over him and leave him to it. ‘Never wake a sleeping gorilla,’ Naboo whispers. ‘Howard taught me that, back at the zoo.’

 

The stairs are a challenge; the corridor seems to have got longer.

 

I stop at the door of my room, fumble the key into the lock. ‘You’re three doors down, think you can get that far?’

 

He doesn’t answer, just looks at me.

 

‘Well,’ I hear myself say, ‘we could... that is, if you...’

 

He gives the smallest of nods.

 

I open the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

‘Nice room.’ Naboo looks at the double bed, and raises an eyebrow. ‘Thought you might get lucky, did you?’

 

I sigh ruefully. ‘Not really. But since this weekend was going to be more work than play for me, I thought I might as well be comfortable.’

 

He nods, then winces and puts a hand to his head. ‘You got any Resolve?’

 

‘I’ve got _everything_. Bandages, painkillers, bolt cutters, fire extinguisher, you name the emergency and I’m ready for it. Have to be, organizing a party for you lot.’

 

‘Just the Resolve,’ he says faintly, and sits down heavily in one corner of the sofa.

 

I rummage in the first aid kit for what I need, fetch a glass and chilled water from the minibar, drop the tabs in and watch them fizz and bubble.

 

‘There you go.’ I hand Naboo the drink, and sit down at the other end of the sofa.

 

‘Cheers.’ He takes a cautious mouthful and puts the glass down on the coffee table; leans back on the cushions, then draws a harsh breath of pain and leans forward again.

 

‘You’re still burnt.’ I pull the jar of extreme suncream from my pocket. ‘I didn’t finish the job.’

 

‘You got pissed off with me an’ stopped.’

 

‘So I did.’

 

‘You still pissed off with me?’

 

‘If I were, do you think you’d be in my hotel room?’ I take the lid off the jar. ‘You’d better let me sort that out for you.’

 

He snorts. ‘You’ve had plenty of practice today.’

 

‘If you’re referring to my putting suncream on Tony Harrison, it was an isolated incidence in my capacity as event organizer, and I didn’t enjoy it.’

 

‘So you say... Tony did, though.’

 

‘Harrison’s perversions are not my concern. The less I have to do with that pink cleft, the better. Now, lean forward and stay still.’

 

I carry on where I left off, smoothing the cream as gently as I can over Naboo’s suns-reddened back, wherever it’s hot to touch.

 

If it weren’t scorched, his skin would be flawless: ivory-pale and silk-soft, so unlike the rubbery, moist top of Harrison’s head, which left my fingers (and, to be honest, most of the rest of me) feeling unclean, tainted by the alien’s shameless sexuality.

 

I concentrate hard on the task in hand and try to rid my mind of all trace of Tony’s nasal voice and filthy comments. It’s blessedly quiet in here: just the faint sound of the sea through the open window, the distant hum of the hotel’s air conditioning, and Naboo’s soft, uneven breathing.

 

‘Well, that should about do it.’ I put the cream away, with some reluctance. ‘I’ve covered all the worst parts, you should be fine by the morning... Naboo?’

 

His shoulders shake.

 

‘You OK?’

 

No answer. He sits up and looks out of the window, and I catch the glint of tears.

 

‘Oh, this is ridiculous. I thought we’d been there, done that for tonight. What the fuck is it _now_?’

 

‘It hurts.’ His voice is barely louder than the whisper of the surf. ‘It fucking hurts...’

 

‘What does?’ I hand him the Resolve and make him drink; he manages about half before he gives it back and buries his face in his hands.

 

I put the glass on the table. ‘What does?’ I ask again.

 

I am just about to ask a third time, when it hits me.

 

He’s not talking about the raw skin on his shoulders, nor about the loneliness of his long bleak exile.

 

Fuck. That’s the last thing I need.

 

But it’s the only thing I need.

 

The knife was so sharp, I never felt it enter my body, but here it is, lodged in my heart, and I can barely breathe.

 

And he’s absolutely right. It fucking hurts.

 

 ‘I’m sorry.’ My voice is a raspy whisper. ‘I’m so sorry.’

 

Two apologies in one day? That’s never happened before.

 

I’m not sure he’s even heard me.

 

‘Naboo.’ His name tastes sweet in my mouth.

 

He looks up, and there’s a gleam of hope in his eyes, like the moonslight on the sea.

 

I reach out and palm his damp cheek; he puts his hand over mine, to keep it there.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, and there’s a lot else I want to say, too, but I can’t.

 

‘Are you cryin’?’

 

‘Yeah.’ I sniff. ‘I know, I know, it’s pathetic –’

 

‘An’ a waste of good drinkin’ time, or somethin’ like that.’ He hands me back my own crumpled handkerchief; I take it gratefully, too far gone to be fussy about where it’s been or what it’s got on it, and dab at my eyes with my free hand.

 

To my shame, once the tears have started, I can’t stop them. I can only kneel in front of the sofa with my head in Naboo’s lap and weep and weep. He strokes my hair and shushes me, whispering like the sea, until my eyes close and a tide of darkness, or maybe alcohol, carries me into a vanilla-scented sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Ouch.  
  
My head hurts.  
  
Lots of other bits of me hurt too.  
  
My throat aches, my nose is clogged and my mouth’s as dry as the Desert of Nightmares. My eyes are sore and sticky.  
  
And there’s something in my hand that feels horribly like a soggy handkerchief.  
  
What the fuck? Anyone would think I’d...  
  
No. Please, ye Xooberon Gods, tell me I didn’t just do what I think I did.  
  
Oh, how bloody embarrassing. Can’t blame Kirk’s cocktails, or the Baileys (yes, I remember that); I know ‘Lachrymose’ is one of the four stages of drunkenness, but even so...  
  
How am I going to face Naboo in the morning?  
  
How am I... What was that?  
  
Sounded like soft breathing.  
  
Or maybe it was just the sea.  
  
No, it’s definitely breathing, and it’s coming from the other side of the double bed.  
  
I force my eyes open, wincing at the sliver of moonslight that cuts across the floor and straight into my face.  
  
Naboo’s leafy shorts are on the bedside chair with my kimono and my hat. I stick a hand nervously under the bedclothes, and am relieved to find that the rest of my clothes are still on me.  
  
‘You OK?’ a sleepy voice mumbles.  
  
‘Fine,’ I lie, ‘I just need the bathroom.’  
  
I sit up slowly, trying to avoid sudden movements.  
  
A light goes on, not blinding full, just bright enough to see my way to the ensuite door.  
  
Cold water on my face helps a lot, but my head’s still pounding when I come out of the bathroom.  
  
I make my way carefully to the minibar.  
  
‘Hair of the dog?’ Naboo asks, as I open the fridge.  
  
I wave a bottle of water at him. ‘Resolve, you plum. And I’m making you one too, you only drank half the last one.’  
  
‘Whose fault was that?’  
  
I pretend I didn’t hear him.  
  
‘Cheers.’ He takes the glass from my hand.  
  
I climb back into my side of the bed and sip my drink, not looking at him.  
  
He laughs suddenly.  
  
‘What?’ I snarl.  
  
‘Just thinkin’... It’s a good thing it’s not possible to actually die from embarrassment, or you’d be a goner... Hey, lighten up, it’s OK, there was only me there to see.’  
  
‘That’s bad enough.’  
  
‘No it isn’t. Tisn’t bad at all. I don’t mind.’  
  
‘Well, I do.’  
  
‘I know. Must be tough, bein’ you. You mind about all sorts of things that don’t matter. Look, you were under a lot of stress, an’ you were drunk, an’ I landed some emotional shit on you with no warning, an’ you flipped. Don’t worry about it. Your secret’s safe with me. An’ anyway that’s not what’s important.’  
  
‘Oh? And just what do you think  _is_  important?’  
  
‘Well... this.’ He waves a hand vaguely at the bed. ‘Whatever’s happened... gonna happen... whatever. Between you an’ me. You losin’ it – that don’t matter. But this... whatever it is that made you lose it... this does.’  
  
He’s making even less sense than usual. But even so, I have a strange feeling he might be right.  
  
I draw a deep breath; let it out through my nostrils, very slowly. ‘Naboo?’  
  
‘Mmm?’  
  
‘How did you get me into bed?’  
  
He laughs so hard he has to put his glass down. ‘Never thought I’d hear you of all people ask me that... I levitated you. Fuckin’ hard work it was an’ all. But I didn’t think you’d want to spend the night on the floor.’  
  
‘You thought right. Thank you.’  
  
‘Is it OK that I stayed?’ He’s biting his lip anxiously.  
  
I smile at him. ‘I’m glad you did... Come here.’  
  
He hesitates. ‘Only if you mean it. Only if it’s you talking, and not the Baileys.’  
  
‘It is me.’  
  
He shuffles across the bed; nestles into the hollow of my shoulder. ‘It’s OK, you can put your arm round me, I’m not sore any more. Good stuff, that suncream.’  
  
I hold him tight, resting my cheek on his silky-smooth hair, letting the quiet and the contact (and possibly also the Resolve) soothe my aching head.  
  
A seabird calls in the distance.  
  
‘There’s somethink you should know,’ Naboo says, reaching up to touch my face. ‘Before anything goes any further.’  
  
‘There’s someone else?’ I take my arm from round him.  
  
‘No, not like that. I mean, about me. I’m not what you think.’  
  
‘I don’t follow.’  
  
‘I’m... third.’  
  
‘Third what?’  
  
‘Third gender.’  
  
‘You’re kidding.  Xooberon Thirds are a myth. Like Earth unicorns.’  
  
Naboo raises his eyebrows. ‘Unicorns’re real enough. I’ve seen one.’  
  
‘Were you high?’  
  
 ‘Yeah. Course I was.’ He turns back the bedclothes. ‘But that’s irrelevant. Look, third-sexers are real too. Good thing they don’t just appear to virgins, though.’  
  
I don’t rise to that one, although I suppose he’s going to find out sooner or later. Right now I’m too transfixed by the sight in front of me. I don’t quite believe what I’m seeing.  
  
‘Just like the diagrams in the Academy textbooks, innit?’ Naboo grins, and runs a hand over himself.  
  
‘Does that mean you can’t have sex?’ Disappointment clutches at my chest.  
  
‘Does that mean you want to?’ Naboo’s grin is wide and wicked.  
  
My breath catches in my throat. ‘Yes.  _Yes_. But...’  
  
‘Don’t look so worried, course I can, I’ll just prob’ly take a bit longer to get off than you will.’ He wrinkles his nose; his eyes are twinkling. ‘Although that’s prob’ly true of just about anybody else in the universe right now.’  
  
That smile... I just have to kiss him.  
  
‘Can I see you, then?’ he asks, when I let him go again.  
  
I strip off my t-shirt and shorts and lie back on the pillows, the breeze through the open window cool on my overheated skin.  
  
‘Why’ve you got your eyes shut?’ he asks softly. ‘There’s nothin’ here that anybody wouldn’t want to see. Or...’  
  
‘Or touch?’  
  
‘Yeah,’ he breathes.  
  
A small hand begins to explore my chest, my stomach, my...  
  
I keep my eyes closed. If I watch him touching me, I’ll lose what little control I have altogether.  
  
‘Hey.’ He takes hold of my hand. ‘I’m doin’ all the work here. There’s two of us in this bed, y’know.’  
  
He guides me over the contours of his chest, a brief contact with one small hard nipple, slender ribs, soft fuzz, the neat dip of his navel; so far, so familiar, but then the landscape changes, smooth and alien, a blank featureless mound where there should be –  
  
 _Should be_? I’m not going to let myself think like that. What matters, is what  _is_ , here and now, and what this is, is...  
  
Well, I’m not sure what it is, to be honest, but it’s warm and soft and pleasingly curved. Not exactly male, but definitely not female either.  
  
‘Saboo.’ He stutters a little, and it strikes me that I don’t often hear him say my name. Until today, we mostly traded insults, if we spoke at all. ‘Saboo, look at me. Please?’  
  
‘What’s wrong?’  
  
‘Nothin’, I just need you to look at me.’  
  
‘Alright, then, I’ll look at you.’ I open my eyes, and look, and look some more.  
  
He relaxes; lets go of my wrist. ‘Thanks.’  
  
I slide my hand between his parted thighs and begin to stroke gently at the little folds of flesh. ‘What was that all about?’  
  
‘Nothin’ really.’ He nuzzles into my neck. ‘S’pose I just want to be sure you’re seein’ me for who I am.’  
  
‘You’re Naboo, that’s who. You think I don’t know that? You’ve told me often enough.’  
  
Naboo sighs, and wriggles closer, his voice muffled in my shoulder. ‘Have to keep remindin’ myself that I’m not just a short bloke in a dress. Or a weird girl in a turban.’  
  
‘Is that how people see you?’  
  
‘Some people, yeah.’  
  
‘I’m not some people.’  
  
‘No, you’re not. You’re that person who’s never liked me. But when it comes to the crunch...’  
  
‘You can speak to me of the crunch?’ I’m having trouble keeping a straight face.  
  
‘Reckon so, yeah. Although’ – he giggles – ‘not sure there is much crunch where you’re concerned, underneath all that bullshit you’re a total softy really, aren’t you?’  
  
‘How dare you... be so absolutely right.’ I kiss him again. ‘But if you ever tell any of the others...’  
  
‘You’re safe there. Promise. They wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. Not like I do... Oh.’  
  
‘Did that hurt?’  
  
‘No.’  
  
‘Stop talking, then, and let me do it some more.’  
 


	4. Chapter 4

‘I give up. It’s takin’ too long.’ Naboo heaves a huge sigh, and flops back against the pillows.

 

‘No, it isn’t, it’s only been half an hour or so. If that.’ I run my fingers one more time over the hot, dry flesh between his legs, but everything remains stubbornly tight shut. ‘You did say it might take you a while, you probably just need more time. I’m happy to keep trying.’

 

He shakes his head; grips my wrist and lifts my hand away from him. ‘It’s not gonna work.’

 

‘Would it help if we applied some sort of lubrication? I expect there’s something in the first-aid kit.’

 

‘Lubes’re no good. I’m allergic to most of ’em. And there’s no point at the moment, there’s no way we’re goin’ to get that in there.’ He reaches for my erection. ‘Lemme just sort you out for now, you need to sleep.’

 

‘I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.’

 

He flinches away; rolls over and buries his face in the pillows.

 

‘I’m sorry.’ I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘I didn’t mean to snap... I suppose I am tired.  But not _that_ tired. Listen, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly. It’s not that you don’t want to, is it?’

 

He shakes his head.

 

‘Then I’ll wait. My powers of self-control are legendary.’ I hope my aching cock has heard that. ‘I’m sure we’ll find a way eventually.’

 

‘And if we don’t?’ he whispers.

 

‘Then there’ll be another time. I promise you.’ I knead gently at the tense muscles in his back. ‘This isn’t a one-night stand, Naboo. I’m not asking for sex because this is our only shot at it.’

 

He rolls over again, to look me in the eyes.

 

I kiss him. ‘And I’m not asking because I had a bet on with Tony fucking Harrison, either. I’m asking because – this is something – I really want – and I know you do too.’

 

It’s hard to kiss and talk at the same time. I give up on the talking part; lose myself in the scent and taste of his mouth and throat and hair.

 

I can’t resist cupping my hand over his smooth mound one more time. He arches his back and presses against the touch, then subsides with a small defeated whimper.

 

‘I can’t... I’m sorry.’

 

‘No need to be sorry. After all, you hardly know me yet. And I’ve spent years taking every possible opportunity to tell you I don’t like you, so why the fuck should you believe me now when I say – ’

 

Naboo catches his breath. I must admit, I’m slightly surprised myself.  But there’s no turning back now. ‘I love you. And yes, I do feel completely stupid saying that.’

 

I bury my burning face in the pillow.

 

‘P’raps you should say it more often, then,’ Naboo whispers in my ear. ‘Dunno why you should feel that way, though. ’Cos I don’t feel even slightly stupid hearing it. Go on, say it again.’

 

‘I – ’

 

‘Say it again an’ look at me.’

 

I heave a deep breath, and let it out again on a nervous half-laugh as I meet his eyes.

 

‘I love you.’

 

‘Been waitin’ years to hear you say that. An’ for what it’s worth, I love you too.’ He grins, and kisses me again; and suddenly my hand is wet. Not just interestingly moist, actually _wet_.

 

I withdraw it from between his legs. ‘What just happened?’

 

‘Nothing bad,’ he stammers, ‘I just... ’s’what happens when I get turned on, but it’s backed up... couldn’t get out... I... I’ll go and wash it off...’

 

‘Don’t be an idiot. We’re going to need it.’ I put my hand back where it was, stroking him slowly, not going any further, not yet; waiting for his breathing to calm.

 

 _‘Did_ you lay a bet with Tony?’ he asks after a while.

 

‘Yes, I did. And I’m about to lose it. The H-Man bet me I wouldn’t be able to resist you.’

 

Naboo laughs. ‘He knows both of us pretty well, I reckon. How much?’

 

‘The cost of my pride? Three hundred euros.’

 

‘Blimey... Better make it worth your while, then.’ He fastens his mouth back on mine, and I slide my fingers through the wetness and find the way inside him.

 

At first there’s only room for one fingertip and even then it’s a tight fit, but it’s getting easier by the minute and I can afford to be patient. If I can keep control of myself, that is; the feel of that silk-smooth, rippling muscle around my finger is doing all sorts of things to my poor frustrated prick, which has never been inserted anywhere more interesting than my own fist...

 

I slide in a second finger and start to make more room. He moans and presses against me. ‘More...’

 

‘Like this?’

 

‘Yes. Feels so good... Yes.’

 

My two fingers are moving freely now; I risk a third.

 

He bites his lip. ‘You could... I think... that is, if you still...’

 

‘Shush. You know I do.’ I press against him, letting him feel how hard I am.

 

‘Let’s give it a try, then.’ The nervous catch in his voice belies his casual words.

 

I’m not exactly confident myself, but I slide my fingers out and clamber into what I hope is the right position. Braced above him, I’m all knees and elbows, too big, too clumsy for his delicate frame.

 

‘Give me a hand here?’ My heart’s pounding in my throat; my voice cracks and breaks.

 

‘Sure.’ He reaches down between us. ‘There you go, that should be the right angle. Just take it slow, yeah?’

 

I nod. He’s tight and hot and despite all the lubrication and foreplay I can only ease myself in a little way. I try to hold still, torn between my desperate need for more stimulation and my equally desperate fear that I’ll do some irreparable damage.

 

‘What’s wrong?’ Naboo lays a hand on my cheek. ‘Is it uncomfortable?’

 

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

 

He shakes his head; gives me an indulgent smile. ‘You won’t.’

 

‘But I might – ’

 

‘To coin a phrase, I’ll be the judge of that.’ The smile grows wider. ‘Not much sign of it so far.’

 

He strokes my back and my sides, laying his hands on my ribcage as though cradling my beating heart.  Then he turns his attention to my nipples, teasing them gently until they’re stone-hard and tingling.

 

‘Stop,’ I croak, ‘you’ll have to stop or I’ll lose it...’

 

He slides his hands down to my arse instead. That’s almost as bad – or as good.

 

I kiss him again, slipping my tongue into the corner of his mouth. He arches his back and makes a small, desolate cry; and suddenly the tightness holding me back is gone and I’m all the way in, ball-deep inside him, and it’s like silk and like honey and like the moonslight on the sea and like nothing I could ever possibly have imagined.

 

Resistance is impossible. I thrust into him frantically, once, twice, and then the orgasm of my life hits me, tearing from my throat a high-pitched sound I didn’t know I could even make.

 

He holds me as the aftershocks die down.

 

‘You didn’t...’ I stammer at length.

 

He kisses me on the cheek. ‘No, but if you... can you stay there a minute?’

 

‘Of course I can.’ I’m not entirely sure this is true, but as my Academy tutor used to say, it’s good to test one’s limits now and again.

 

‘Fanks.’ He moves against me, crushing his body to mine, the tension in him winding up tighter and tighter; then suddenly he is still.

 

His dark eyes hold a flicker of doubt. Even the sea is holding its breath.

 

I kiss him on the forehead, on the mouth. ‘You’re quite safe, little one. Let it go.’

 

His release is almost silent, just the faintest of whimpers at the back of his throat, but the tremor that rushes through him is strong enough to shake the bed.

 

I disentangle us with the last of my strength and we lie gasping and limp, sprawled side by side, still holding hands.

 

The Xooberon Moons look through the window, murmur ‘We don’t need to see this,’ and turn politely away.

 

I do like a planet with polite satellites.

 

They’re right, we’re not a pretty sight, soaked as we are with tears, snot, sweat... pretty much every bodily fluid you could imagine.

 

Yesterday I would have run a mile.

 

Today I just stagger to the bathroom to fetch a towel.

 

‘I hurt you.’ I stare in shock at the bright smear on the cloth.

 

Naboo shakes his head and smiles at me. ‘It’s OK, you didn’t really.’

 

‘But this...’

 

He takes the towel out of my hand, drops it on the floor. ‘Only to be expected. Next time’ll be fine. If there will be a next time?’

 

‘Of course there will. But I don’t understand.’

 

‘Well, let me put it this way. Guess I won’t be seein’ unicorns no more.’

 

‘Me neither.’

 

His eyes widen; then he laughs. ‘You too? You should’ve said. I’d’ve been more careful.’

 

‘But –’

 

‘It doesn’t matter. That was everythin’ I could’ve wanted. An’ to be honest, they’re ugly brutes anyway, totally overrated if you ask me... How about a shower?’ 

 

The complicated knot of emotions in my chest is soothed away by the hot water and the slide of Naboo’s clean skin against mine. Whatever else may happen tomorrow –

 

‘Why, what do you think will happen tomorrow?’

 

‘You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if the champagne’s flat, the boat sinks or the barbecue catches fire, all of which are distinct possibilities for which I have prepared the appropriate safety and medical resources –’

 

Naboo leans on me and rubs his wet face lovingly against my chest. ‘You’ve left out Dennis getting on the wrong boat, Bollo bein’ seasick, and Kirk falling overboard and floating away. To say nothing of yours and my hangovers. And the fact that you owe the H-Man serious money.’

 

‘Don’t care.’ I pull him closer to me; bury my face in his fragrant hair. ‘As long as this doesn’t turn out to be a dream –’

 

‘Which it won’t –’

 

‘Then, well, I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but: it’s been a good party.’


End file.
